


Nothing Kingly

by Tiofrean



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: A One Scene Fic, Anal Sex, Emotional, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Love, M/M, Smut, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21885493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: A moment in time Faramir would gladly grab in his hands, transform into a jewel and keep forever.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Kudos: 47





	Nothing Kingly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MermaidSheenaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidSheenaz/gifts).



> At 1 am an idea came to me, and I decided that I had to write it... so here it is. Merry Christmas? 
> 
> MermaidSheenaz cast an eye over it and didn't find mistakes, but if there are any, pin them on me. 
> 
> Sheenaz! Le hannon, hir nin, a dulu lin! <3

_ There’s nothing kingly about him now, _ Faramir thinks, spreading his palms over shivering skin, mouthing up tense muscles as if he could somehow drain all of this pent up energy, take it out and transform it into diamonds, tuck it away for safe-keeping. 

Aragorn is trembling beneath him,  arms braced in a desperate attempt at finding ground in the ocean of soft sheets, words rushing out of him in a hushed whisper that reminds Faramir of the Great Sea. 

_ Mir… meleth. Iesten… Faramir. _

Breeze has never sounded as loving as Aragorn does right in that moment, in the last heartbeat before losing his mind. He’s tethering on the edge, pushed right up against the proverbial wall, clinging to his sanity as much as he clings to the sweat-soaked linen. His fingers flex and claw at the pillow, nearly tearing his way through it,  and Faramir would think about battle and the clash of swords, of danger and blood, if it hadn’t been for Aragorn’s voice, devotion overflowing every syllable. 

The sounds are slithering between them, sneaking underneath grasping hands and stroking over warm flesh. Aragorn's breath catches in his throat and gets stuck there for a longer moment, his back arching, and suddenly, they are pressed tightly together.  There is space around his waist where Faramir’s hands fall, wrapping perfectly and holding him close, a momentary shift in reality that puts the universe into its rightful place. An enthusiastic moan welcomes Faramir’s teeth on his shoulder, and the knowledge is quickly put to good use, reducing noises to whispers again. 

The delirious shivering is gaining on strength again, and though he knows its from pleasure, Faramir can’t help noticing the unprotected expanse of glimmering skin at Aragorn’s sides, the shifting of ribs just beneath it. The vulnerable flesh is rarely uncovered like this, never outside of their bedroom, hidden from prying eyes among robes and armor. It pushes Faramir to fall back on his instincts, to tug them both up and sit down on his heels, to wrap his arms around the tense frame and shield the precious flesh from every nonexistent threat. 

Aragorn pauses, sitting upright. His breathing is shallow and somehow, amazingly, still rattling his whole body. His ribs move rapidly, muscles jumping in the safe circle of Faramir’s arms, and he gives a small, choked out sob, his head falling forward. Overly long hair obscures what little view was available, shadowing his eyes and curling around his jaw, but the act is not done yet. A little more is needed, a tiny shift, a small thrust forward - Faramir delivers, drawing back and pushing in once more, again and again, until those clever fingers curl around his wrists, hold on to him in  madness so encompassing, it transcendents their meager forms and turns to immortal dust. 

Arda must have been formed that way. It must have been created from the pure fire of love sparked between a king and a steward some long years ago. 

_ There’s nothing kingly about him now, _ Faramir thinks, sinking one last time, falling under the surface and relishing the quiet. The sea settles and the world stops for a moment, filled only with the harsh sound of breathing, deafening in the silence around them. Aragorn slumps forward, a satisfied hum escaping him with a soft exhale, his body uncurling and stretching among the damp sheets. Faramir follows, wrapping them both in blankets, draping himself protectively over Aragorn’s back, lips whispering mindless kisses into his neck. 

There’s nothing kingly about the cooling sweat and the sleepy slide of one foot crawling up his shin. There’s nothing even remotely royal in the matted curls and reddened lips… And yet, Faramir would gladly get on his knees and pledge his allegiance to the High King of Gondor,  had it not meant he would have to detach himself from the lithe body. There is a tongue sneaking lazily over his forearm, lips pressing to his wrist, a pledge in its own right passing unvoiced between them. When Aragorn turns around and kisses him,  a sleepy dance of incoordination and love pouring out of him in waves, the prince tightens his arms around him, content to leave their oaths unpretentious,  safe in the privacy of the night. 


End file.
